


Quickshot

by Blackrising



Series: We Were Wolves [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/F, Femslash, Futanari, G!P, G!P Tracer, Premature Ejaculation, Smut, Teasing, sort of Femdom I suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7027057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackrising/pseuds/Blackrising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you doing?” she croaked instead, holding her breath as a warm palm slid down to touch the inside of her thigh. Heat built at the edges of her limbs, centering gradually in her belly.<br/>The spark that lit up Widowmaker’s eyes was unmistakable and Tracer shivered at the quiet, husky word that left her mouth in a hiss.<br/>“Hunting.”</p><p>- OR -</p><p>Widowmaker likes to tease and Tracer is quick in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quickshot

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning to wait 'till next month to post this, but I've been playing so much Overwatch lately I just had to give back to the community. This story is set sometime after the 'Alive' trailer, but before their stint at the museum.

“Tiens tiens, it looks like we will be working together.”

Widowmaker smirked and leaned against the doorframe. Tracer blew out an annoyed breath, ignoring her presence and continuing to adjust the zipper of her jacket. Getting dressed for missions was always a bit of a challenge with her chronal accelerator having to be kept strapped on tight at all times. There was enough of a leeway to change clothes, but it still left her stumbling around more often than not.

“Don’t think I’m happy about that,” she huffed and got up from her cot, steering towards her locker to stash her clothes. “Winston is daft if he thinks getting you on board is a good idea. Bloody hell, you work for Talon!”

Widowmaker clicked her tongue and sauntered into the room, letting her fingers trail over the various posters on the wall. “Talon has a personal interest in seeing the mission succeed. I don’t intend to betray you, if that is what you think.”

Tracer hesitated. “Personal interest? What _personal interest_?”

The Assassin shrugged and sank down onto Tracer’s cot, crossing her legs. If Tracer’s eyes happened to linger for longer than strictly necessary, she was determined not to think about it.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, _chérie_.”

Tracer slammed her locker shut. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh? Still angry about our little _tête-à-tête_ in King’s Row?” Widowmaker asked, cocking her head in mock-confusion.

“You _killed_ Mondatta. And you _tried_ to kill _me_.”

“I am an assassin. Killing is my job.” Widowmaker’s tone was measured, though the glimmer in her eyes betrayed her excitement. “Although I must admit, that was one of my finer kills.”

Tracer gritted her teeth and blinked across the room to stand in front of her, drawing up to her full height – which wasn’t much, considering she was 5’4 and about as bulky as a twig.

“See, this is why working with you is absolutely bonkers,” she groused, throwing her hands up to point accusingly at the source of her ire. “You _enjoy_ killing people, so how am I supposed to trust you to watch my back? You’re gonna cock it up for everyone!”

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow and pushed the finger pointing at her face aside. She seemed to contemplate something, eyes narrow and harsh, before a smirk twitched at the edges of her lips and transformed her uncaring expression into one Tracer had seen far too often that night Mondatta had died.

“You are a feisty one, no? So quick to judge…” Her yellow gaze traveled across Tracer’s body and Tracer wasn’t sure whether to interpret the gleam in them as interest or derision. All the same, it made her stomach clench. “Though I suppose there is no sense in going into battle angry.”

“What are you-“ Tracer’s words got lost in a surprised squeak when one slender finger traced a path up her left thigh. It crawled along slowly, lazily, and veered back down just as it threatened to brush against her crotch.

The motion was repeated a few more times, each one closer than before. Even though the touch was light, it burned against Tracer’s skin and she stiffened as her cock gave a telltale jump.

This was definitely not the right time to encourage the other woman’s little games by getting horny, but it was hard not to get distracted by the heavy promise in her motions.

“Oh? No more accusations to fling at me?” Widowmaker asked, pausing the movement of her hand. “Or has your pride vanished already?”

Tracer shook her head rapidly to get rid of the pleasant fog in her mind, hands balling into fists at her side. Her throat felt tight and she _could_ have been out of here in the blink of an eye, but she felt tethered to the single finger resting in the hollow where leg met pelvis.

“What are you doing?” she croaked instead, holding her breath as a warm palm slid down to touch the inside of her thigh. Heat built at the edges of her limbs, centering gradually in her belly.

The spark that lit up Widowmaker’s eyes was unmistakable and Tracer shivered at the quiet, husky word that left her mouth in a hiss.

“Hunting.”

Widowmaker’s hand swiftly moved up to curl around Tracer’s crotch, her grip tight and unforgiving and Tracer wished the fingertips digging into her sensitive flesh were uncomfortable enough to prevent her from reacting.

Her hips rocked forward on instinct and she choked back a startled groan as the blood in her brain began to travel decidedly further south, the pulsing in her lower stomach too sudden and unexpected to fight against.

It was impossible to hide, too.

Her uniform was made to be streamlined and sleek, not to hide erections, and with the harsh grasp Widowmaker had on her she was bound to notice the cock twitching and hardening underneath her palm.

If the Assassin was surprised by her immediate reaction, she didn’t show it. She merely squeezed, wrangling another surprised groan out of her, and licked her lips.

“Interesting,” she muttered, though Tracer couldn’t tell what was so interesting about her getting a boner from having her crotch fondled. “You’re very easy to please, are you not?”

“That-“ Tracer wasn’t the kind of person to get embarrassed easily, but the dark amusement in the other woman’s tone burned into her belly and made her ears light up red. She’d never had that particular problem before, though she wasn’t exactly experienced when it came to sex.

She shook her head and grimaced, even as her cock jerked eagerly into Widowmaker’s hand. “That’s not true.”

The fingers around her crotch moved, massaging the package underneath in playful, rhythmic strokes and Tracer’s knees nearly buckled, her length rising to full-hardness and straining painfully against the tight confines of her suit.

The Assassin’s eyes roamed over her face intently as she traced the obvious outline up to the tip, lingering over the spots that made Tracer flinch and suck in strangled breaths. Even through the thickness of her suit, the muffled sensations caused her legs to quiver and threaten to give way.

“You have a lot to learn about lying.” The Assassin pursed her lips in what might count as humour and Tracer gritted her teeth, the redness in her cheeks intensifying.

“Oh, get stuffed.”

There was a short pause before Widowmaker nodded her head. “Very well.”

“Huh?”

Tracer was left with only a moment to wonder about the meaning of her words before slim fingers dipped into the waistband of her pants and pulled them down to her thighs with one quick yank.

Her uniform was too tight to bother with underwear and thus her cock immediately sprung up to slap against her stomach. The cool air was soothing against the hot flesh, but it did nothing to alleviate the arousal or the shock of standing in front of a woman she barely knew, a woman who had tried to kill her not that long ago, with her pants down and her bare cock hard and on display.

A drop of pre-cum beaded at the tip.

Tracer held her breath as Widowmaker eyed it for a brief moment before making a soft sound in the back of her throat – amusement or satisfaction, Tracer couldn’t tell, though the former seemed far more likely – and bending it towards her with the tip of one finger.

Her cock was already too sensitive, her arousal driven by the teasing tilt of the Assassin’s head, the sight of her face so close and if Tracer was honest with herself, the memory of a few nights too many spent thinking about her cruel smirk and the sway of her hips.

“For god’s sake, stop faffing around,” she grumbled in frustration, fidgeting underneath the intense gaze directed at her and her groin aching from unfulfilled arousal.

Widowmaker huffed out a breath and it might have sounded like a laugh if it weren’t for her stony expression. “So eager. We will see how long you can last.”

Warm breath washed over Tracer’s skin, causing goosebumps to rise along her arms and shoulders. Widowmaker bit her bottom lip for a moment in a deliberately seductive gesture before she met her eyes beneath heavy lashes and delivered a single, long lick to the underside of her head.

Tracer watched her with her mouth opened into a silent ‘o’ as the Assassin wrapped her lips around the tip gently, cheeks hollowing out slightly as she sucked the pre onto her tongue.

 The contrast between her blue skin and Tracer’s own pale one was captivating, though Tracer couldn’t find it in her to appreciate it when she could barely draw a proper breath, too busy biting her tongue to think about what exactly she’d gotten herself into.

If she thought Widowmaker would start slow or go easy on her, she’d been mistaken.

The Assassin’s tongue rubbed tight circles around a spot that made stars burst behind Tracer’s eyelids before she opened her mouth wide and swallowed her cock in a single, smooth movement.

Tracer jerked and nearly collapsed, bending forward instinctively and holding onto the back of the other woman’s head. The sound that left her mouth was broken, loud and desperate as she felt the warm muscle of Widowmaker’s throat close around her cock like a glove.

“Oh bugger,” she squeaked, eyes wide and hips trembling and rocking of their own accord. The Assassin merely swallowed in response, sending a ripple of pleasure down Tracer’s spine as the flesh around her squeezed momentarily tighter.

Tracer figured she probably wasn’t the biggest in terms of size, but it seemed to work in her favour now with Widowmaker moving and sucking without being in danger of choking.

Either that or she was simply good at what she was doing.

Widowmaker gave another swallow before she drew back and Tracer whimpered, the sensation of the tight heat sliding along her skin almost too much to bear. The pounding in her lower belly amplified, her muscles twitching continuously, and she took a deep, calming breath.

The Assassin caught the action and moved away, her eyes bright and mocking. “We haven’t even started yet, _chérie_. You are not too excited already, are you?”

“No?” She’d meant to sound certain and sure, but it ended up being more of a confession than she would like – if the swollen heaviness of her cock hadn’t been proof enough already.

The corners of Widowmaker’s mouth twitched as she went in again, taking the length just as easily as before. This time her hands went to Tracer’s hips, burying her nails in the soft flesh to keep her steady.

When she began bobbing her head, quick and steady and without pause, Tracer sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut. The feeling was too much – the tightness around her tip, the tongue rubbing across the underside of her cock, the suction that seemed to draw out her climax whether she wanted to or not.

Widowmaker’s words, cold and cruel, echoed in her head – ‘ _You are very easy to please, are you not?_ – and Tracer jolted, her orgasm suddenly, unexpectedly, bubbling up and her hips thrusting against the other woman’s face with jerky movements.

“No, no, no, no-“ she chanted feverishly, unable to articulate a proper warning of what was about to happen even as her balls drew up and her cock swelled in anticipation of her impending climax. “Bloody-“

The Assassin’s throat tightened, her fingers digging into Tracer’s hips to pull her in as deep as possible one last time, and Tracer came with a hoarse cry.

Her eyes were wide open, but she didn’t see a thing as pleasure rippled through her in waves, her cum spilling freely down the other woman’s throat with every pulse of her shaft.

Widowmaker wouldn’t let her pull back. Every jet of cum was swallowed, sucked down her gullet with nary a second of hesitation, and Tracer bit down on her lower lip to try and stop the choked moan – to no avail. She had no choice but to ride it out, the Assassin’s hand coming up to stroke her balls and coax out everything she had to give.

When her climax abated, her legs felt like jelly. Widowmaker retreated, letting Tracer slip out of her, and stared up at her with a calculating look in her narrowed eyes.

The ghost of a smirk stole onto her face after a moment. “Congratulations, _chérie_ ,” she said, her voice dripping with acidic ridicule and her lips shiny and wet. “You met my expectations.”

Tracer’s face burned, but she grinned and threw back a quip anyway. “So you’ve been thinking about sucking me off for some time, have you, love?”

“If I had, I would have hoped for a less hurried outcome.”

Tracer’s pride crumbled underneath the casual insult, but she wasn’t so easily beaten – regardless of the teasing tug against her oversensitive cock that made her flinch.

She knew it was a stupid idea, but she also knew that possibly disastrous consequences had never stopped her before.

Closing her eyes and releasing a breath, Tracer concentrated on the energy inside her chest. Nowadays all it took was the image of a familiar blue stream in her mind to kickstart the pulling at her muscles and the bout of nausea building in the space behind her navel.

She saw blue even through her closed eyelids and was grateful she hadn’t done much moving in the past few minutes - otherwise the nausea of reversing time might have killed the purpose of her move.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she did was glance down to confirm it had worked. She could tell it had by the lack of post-orgasm drowsiness and the newly-returned pulsing in her lower belly, but she’d never tried anything like that before.

Her erection was back, as tall and proud as it had been before she’d made a mess of herself.

Widowmaker blinked at her, a glimmer of surprise breaking through her mask of apathy.

“You were saying?” Tracer grinned and stood up straighter. Two could play at this game and she was sure the other woman would have to slink back to where she came now – preferably back to Talon and as far away from her and her friends as possible. “You wanted to keep going, right?”

The Assassin’s eyes narrowed into slits. Gone were the barely-there smirks and the haughty amusement, replaced by the kind of genuine annoyance Tracer tended to inspire in most people - albeit not quite in the same way.

“Wouldn’t want to wear you out, of course,” she babbled on merrily, already reaching for her pants to pull them back up. “Can’t have you missing your targets out of exhaustion.”

Before she got a chance to declare herself the winner of this game and leave to take care of the erection she’d brought on herself, Widowmaker’s hand whipped out and closed firmly around her shaft.

“I never miss,” she intoned coldly, keeping Tracer rooted to the spot and in her palm. The fabric of her gloves was rough against her skin, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

“You didn’t manage to shoot _me_.”

“An unfortunate oversight.” Her other hand reached for the hidden zipper at her stomach and began to pull – casually, and as though she hadn’t noticed the way Tracer’s eyes were glued to her skin. “One I will correct someday soon.”

The threat didn’t quite register with Tracer, not when the other woman’s zipper inched closer and closer to revealing everything and the hand around her cock had begun to move up and down lazily, twisting around the head on every pass.

The movement stopped and Tracer bit back a whine.

“Are you getting distracted, _chérie_?” Widowmaker asked, her zipper finally reaching the end of the line and disappearing between her legs. Tracer wanted to see her - wanted to see whether she really was as unaffected as she pretended to be or whether doing this had her aroused and wet – but her legs were still crossed primly.

Tracer forced her eyes away and put on a shaky grin, resisting the urge to thrust into the other woman’s hand. “Not bleeding likely.”

Widowmaker gave a last tug and scooted back onto the cot, raising an eyebrow. “Good. I would hate for you to disappoint me – again.”

The brightness of her eyes convinced Tracer that she would very much like to be disappointed again, if only to have a reason to mock her further.

“That was an accident,” she mumbled, the muscles of her legs straining in an effort to stop herself from following. “You surprised me, is all.”

“Did I?”

“Yes!” Tracer exlaimed. “You can’t just go from assassination to giving me head.”

Widowmaker cocked her head. “There is not as big of a difference between the two as you seem to think. Both are a game meant to be won.”

She readjusted her position on the cot until her torso leaned against the wall, her posture languid and regal in a way Tracer would never manage. The bed might as well have been a throne.

“But since you are so adamant about distrusting my intentions, I propose a little bet.”

Even if Tracer hadn’t known how easily the woman before her could end a life, the twitch of pleasure at the edges of her mouth would have left her weary.

“What sort of bet?”

“One that should be an easy win for you.”

Tracer’s jaw fell slack as the Assassin suddenly uncrossed her legs and spread them, revealing the flesh in-between.

She was wet.

That was all Tracer’s mind could come up with – Widowmaker was hot and wet and _affected_ and if she was a different sort of person, she’d mock her for it. As it stood, all she could do was stare and ignore the drops of pre-cum sliding down her shaft as the heat in her lower body pulsed in time with her heart beats.

She barely heard the woman’s next words.

“If you can last inside me for two minutes, you win and I will not participate in this mission.” She spread her legs wider. “I expect you will not even last one.”

The muscles in Tracer’s belly tightened in anticipation at the words, even as she fought to retain some semblance of clarity.

“And what if I lose?” she asked absentmindedly, not sure whether it mattered. It was getting harder and harder to not pounce right away, regardless of whether she was willing to trust Widowmaker to honour their deal.

“Then you owe me a favour.” She seemed to catch the narrowing of Tracer’s eyes and specified. “I do not need you to fight my battles. I will not ask you to kill or harm one of your little friends.”

“What about Overwatch? I’m not gonna give you classified information or anything of the sort.”

“If I wanted information, there are far more pleasant ways to obtain it.”

The dig was an obvious one, although Tracer did not miss the gleaming wetness on the Assassin’s inner thighs.

She hesitated.

The obvious thing to do was to walk away from this and try to convince Winston that Widowmaker was not to be trusted or to suck it up and keep an eye on her during the mission. She _knew_ it was, but it was so very hard to think when her body lay open and ready for the taking and all Tracer had to do was give in.

The Assassin hummed and trailed the fingers of her right hand over her own thigh before dipping lower to stroke herself. The purposeful arch of her hips and the quiet moan that left her throat chipped away at Tracer’s resolve.

“Well? I am waiting for you.”

Widowmaker slid two fingers around her clit and spread herself, wetness glistening at her entrance.

It was Tracer’s undoing.

She hadn’t meant to activate her accelerator, but before she knew it she’d blinked forward in a blue haze triggered by her eagerness. She might have stumbled over her pants or shot past her goal by a mile if she hadn’t been stopped short by the sole of a boot slamming into her upper chest.

It kept her still with her knees digging into the mattress and her arms half-extended.

“Not so fast, _chérie_ ,” Widowmaker chuckled darkly, her hand closing around Tracer’s member even as her boot dug hard into the side of her neck. “Are you not forgetting something?”

Tracer blinked owlishly, wracking her mind for what she could have possibly missed about something as basic as the act of sex, until the Assassin reached underneath the fabric covering her chest to produce a rectangular tin foil package.

“Safety first.”

Her tone was mocking and under normal circumstances Tracer would have liked to know just why she had a condom in her suit in the first place, but her desire overruled any attempts at glibness and she held perfectly still as Widowmaker pinched the end of the silicone and brought it to the tip of her cock.

There was a barely noticeable loss of sensation as she rolled it down – not enough to be bothersome, but maybe enough to afford Tracer a few extra seconds.

The metal boot was cold as it traced her jaw for a long moment before Widowmaker finally moved her leg away.

Tracer didn’t wait for verbal permission before inching forward, eyes fixed on the inviting flesh that lay before her. All she had to do was last more than two minutes. Two measly minutes.

She breathed in deeply as the tip of her cock grazed the hot wetness. She was waiting for Widowmaker to take the initiative again, to grasp and pull at her, but she seemed more than content to let her go at her own pace this time.

Tracer bit her lip and exhaled. She swiped the head of her length up and down the wet slit one, two, three times and, finally, pushed inside.

The heat sucked her in.

Even if she’d wanted to go slow, she couldn’t stop her hips from giving one long thrust – hard and too clumsy, but sufficient in getting her where she wanted to be.

When she bottomed out, she bit back a sharp moan. She barely noticed the short hitch in Widowmaker’s breathing or the fingers clawing into the back of her jacket.

The warm tightness squeezed around her as she started up a slow, jerky rhythm and let her head roll forward. She forced her eyes open to watch Widowmaker’s breasts sway with each thrust, the drop of sweat sliding down her stomach to pool in her navel, the tensing of lean muscles.

Tracer felt the air in her lungs grow short, felt the ball of pleasure at the base of her spine grow and she knew she was doomed.

Widowmaker was too tight and warm and the pleasure was too much – there was no way she’d be able to last two minutes. Her movements faltered as she tried to get back her bearings, though even the miniscule twitches of her cock sent zings of electricity through her.

The Assassin tutted and casually wrapped long legs around her waist, forcing her back into motion with a mere flex of her muscles. “No breaks. Otherwise I will leave and you will not get to come.”

Tracer was helpless to do anything but obey. Her hips moved of their own accord, the wet sounds of skin on skin filling the room and driving her arousal impossibly higher. She couldn’t think about what she was doing. What _they_ were doing.

She couldn’t think about how she was _inside_ her, how Widowmaker was wet and willing underneath her.

And she couldn’t think about how despite her words, the Assassin’s legs around her tightened periodically, how her chest moved or how she could feel a heartbeat – slow and quiet, but it was there - through the connection of their bodies.

Tracer grimaced and whimpered as the pleasure behind her navel began to build, her climax approaching far too rapidly.

She squeezed her eyes shut and began to count upwards silently. _One, two, three-_

Toilet cleaning duty.

_Four, five, six, seven-_

Winston in the shower.

_Eight, nine-_

“Distracted, are we?”

The hot breath in Tracer’s ear came as a shock and the barrier of non-sexy thoughts she’d built up in her head crumbled.

Widowmaker’s fingers trailed along her back to slip beneath the waistband of her pants, scratching lightly along the skin of her buttocks.

“You have almost made it to the halfway mark,” she purred, canting her hips to meet Tracer’s thrusts for a dizzying moment. “I even had you put on a condom to make it easier on you.”

Tracer shook her head, utterly incapable of replying, and tried in vain to stop listening to the words breathed into her ear. The constant pressure around her cock was taking its toll on her, the sensation of the Assassin’s body underneath her, around her, everywhere, simply _too much_.

If she wasn’t careful…

Widowmaker chuckled darkly. “Or is that what you are distracted by? The thought of fucking me without this pesky condom?” Her voice dropped an octave, the husky undertone making her accent more pronounced. “The thought of ripping it off and fucking me bare? Of _coming inside me_.”

The muscles in Tracer’s stomach tightened as if on command, her orgasm suddenly on the verge of bubbling over.

“I need to stop,” she ground out, coming to a stand-still and her heart hammering against her ribcage with ever pulse of pleasure radiating from her groin to the rest of her body. “I need-“

She gasped when two hands grabbed her collar and Widowmaker’s yellow eyes fixed her with a glare that shouldn’t have pushed her even closer to the edge, but did.

“I told you. No breaks.”

Tracer’s mouth fell open as she was pushed backwards and the Assassin climbed on top of her without breaking the connection between them. She smirked, her fingers hooking into the straps of Tracer’s accelerator – whether to keep her still or as a threat, Tracer didn’t know or care.

“Just one more minute,” Widowmaker assured her, arching her back languidly. “Not a problem, no?”

Had Tracer known how to reply, the first roll of the Assassin’s hips would have put a stop to it. Widowmaker’s hips began to move – quick and unforgiving, designed to give Tracer not a single moment of pause, and Tracer’s legs quivered, the burn of pleasure in her groin reaching the point of no return.

“Wait, wait, wait, this is-“

It didn’t take more than a second. Tracer’s cock swelled as she was pushed over the edge and her hands instinctually reached out to grip Widowmaker’s hips. She didn’t hear the cry that fell from her lips or the answering gasp from the other woman, nor did she realize that she had arched her hips off the bed to press as deep into the Assassin as possible.

All she could feel was the burst of pleasure racing up her spine and her cum filling the condom with every twitch of her balls. The warm, wet muscle around her length rippled rhythmically to coax out more of her, to milk her for everything she had, and the blood rushing through her ears drowned out everything except for the sensation radiating through her limbs and the sting of nails burying into her skin.

She imagined doing this without a condom in the way, when there was no barrier between them that prevented her from filling the other woman to the brim and she groaned at the aftershock the thought evoked.

Her hips gave one last, weak push before Tracer sank back down on the mattress with a heavy sigh.

She was tired. Her limbs felt like lead and even if she’d wanted to, she didn’t think she’d be able to go back in time again. Widowmaker slid off her silently and Tracer grimaced at how sensitive and raw her cock felt.

The sound of a zipper being pulled up was the only noise in the room for a few long moments.

Then, a cool hand came to rest on Tracer’s cheek. “You lost, _chérie_.”

Whatever ridicule Tracer might have expected to hear in the Assassin’s tone was curiously absent and she forced her eyes to open. The other woman’s expression was impossible to read.

“Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that,” she mumbled sheepishly. The cool palm against her face felt pleasant and she was too exhausted to keep up the anger – at least for now. “You felt really nice.”

Widowmaker blinked and disappeared from her line of sight. Tracer waited for a reply, an insult, anything, but only when she was finally coherent enough to look around did she realize that the Assassin had left – gone as silently as she’d appeared.

Tracer sighed and turned on her side, resolving to tidy herself up after a much-needed nap. And one of Winston's bananas.

She had a feeling she'd need the energy.

**Author's Note:**

> Is 'surprise blowjob' a kink? If so, I have it.  
> ___________
> 
> If you want to know more about my writing, hop on over to my [tumblr](http://the-queen-and-her-soldier.tumblr.com/)!


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